


Odds Out at Five to One

by shotboxer



Series: Odds In 'Verse [1]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Spanking, Stephen Didn't Die, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5852719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotboxer/pseuds/shotboxer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the far side of an anomaly, Connor meets five alternate versions of himself.  The others think he's missing out on something.  Which is ridiculous.  Cutter would never think of him that way.  And then there's that other thing they mentioned . . . .<br/>But it doesn't matter, because Connor knows they're wrong . . . aren't they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odds Out at Five to One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval, its characters or anything else associated with it. I am making no money from this.
> 
> Please Note: In real life I only advocate spanking practiced between consenting adults. In fiction I advocate any and all spanking. This is a work of fiction and it contains spanking. Don't like, don't read. 
> 
> Spoilers: The usual ones for the end of Season 2 and the beginning of Season 3, involving a certain blue-eyed lab assistant.

**_Somewhere in the Permian Era . . ._ **

They had all decided right away that they needed to find a way to differentiate between them. They could tell each other apart, much more easily than one might have thought possible, given their obviously near-identical faces, but calling out ‘Connor’ and having every other person except yourself respond did not work well as a practical matter. Much more to the point, to their collective mind, it made having a proper discussion of their situation bloody complicated. As they each had on a particular item of clothing that was torn, thanks to the uniformly violent manners of their arrivals, they naturally chose to ‘name’ each of themselves by the most obviously torn piece of clothing they each sported. Using the gaffe tape from one of the rucksacks to affix said torn item prominently to their chest made sure no one got confused.

Connor himself (or one of himselves?) was ‘Glove’. In addition to himself, there were five other Connors. In their working theory, each of them was from an alternate universe in which some key component was different enough that it created an independent, parallel timeline, one that couldn’t be altered by events occurring in other universes. Yet all of their timelines could be altered internally, as Cutter’s tale of Claudia Brown who was then Jenny Lewis attested. The five others were, respectively, Hat, Trousers, Shirt, Shoe, and Jacket.

They had already established that the broad outline of events, and relationships, was the same across their universes – they were all part of a team that investigated the anomalies, along with Cutter, Abby, and Stephen. The other people concerned with the anomalies--Lester, Becker, Captain Ryan, Jenny, and others--were all also present across universes, although their exact relationships to the team, and their professional roles, varied more widely than those of the ‘core team’.

They were now involved in a somewhat systematic comparison of events in their universes. So far, the general course of incidents seemed to be similar, with timing and details changed from universe to universe. For instance, Connor’s universe was the only one where no one had seen Abby dragged into the canal by the future mer-creature. The others were all horrified to hear how long it had taken to get her back, and how the team had believed her dead for several hours beforehand. The group got through the grueling parts around the teams’ splintering, Stephen’s death, and, _thank all that was holy_ , resurrection - in all their universes – and decided it was a wonderful time to have a break. They cobbled together a few shared nibbles from the contents of the rucksacks three of them had brought through their respective anomalies to . . . wherever they currently were.

Tidying away the food wrappers into his pack, Jacket turned to the others, “So, who wants to talk about that one with the big cats?”

“Was, what? The second one after Stephen came back for good?” (Shirt)

“Third.” (Shoe)

“First.” (Trousers)

“Second, for me,” Connor put in.

“And me.” (Hat)

Connor considered before putting forth, “So . . . rescued the sensors, got stalked by the pride, got saved by Stephen with some fancy shooting on the tranq rifle . . . practically went deaf from all the shouting after . . .”

“’Shouting,’ right, that’s one way to put it, Glove,” Shoe snorted.

“Yeah, my lot were doing more shouting at each other about who got the biggest piece of me, least at first,” agreed Trousers.

Jacket made a sympathetic face at Trousers. “Yours was the first after, innit? Tough luck there; can’t have but made it worse, yeah?”

Trousers whistled, “Phheeew. I wasn’t for getting up and going anywhere for quite a while afterwards, I can tell you that. Can’t have been too much easier on any of the rest of you though.”

Hat nodded, “At least you lot only had Cutter and Stephen to deal with; your Beckers hadn’t shown up yet. The three of us,” he waved his hand to include Connor and Shirt, “had to deal with all three of them gunning for our backsides. And Abby was no help, either.”

Shirt nodded emphatically, “I didn’t even want to _think_ about sitting for a good long time after those three got done with me.”

“That one was one of the worst.” (Shoe)

“Oh, I’d say it _was_ the worst.” (Hat)

Trousers looked over at Hat, “I don’t know why you think ‘only’ having Nick and Stephen take turns spanking the daylights out of me was somehow ‘better’. They just let me have it that much harder, didn’t they?”

Jacket waved a hand to silence the others. “What’s got into Glove? You look like you’ve eaten a bug, mate. What’d we say?”

Connor could *feel* himself guppying. “What, they . . . . to . . . you . . . they, they, _smacked_ you? _All_ of them smacked _all of you_?”

Shirt looked at Connor like he’d just insisted the sky was orange, “Of course they did. Why? Wait . . . you’re not saying yours somehow let you off? How’d you manage _that_? “

“No! No one let me off! I’m saying I wasn’t _on_ in the first . . . they didn’t smack me! None of them have ever smacked me! Or anyone! And, and, I don’t know why you think they would, but, but, they don’t. And if this is a joke, it isn’t funny!”

There was silence as five pairs of eyes studied him in stunned realization.

“So . . . never. Like, never _ever_?” (Hat)

Connor was beginning to feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, “No. Never. I . . . things don’t work that way.”

“Wow. Sorry, mate; that’s rough,” Jacket reached over and gave Connor’s shoulder a squeeze.

Connor was completely confused now, “You’re sorry that Cutter, and Stephen, and apparently Becker, too, _don’t_ smack me?”

The others shared another look. Shoe leaned forward, “Look . . . Nick and Stephen and Becker, they smack us because . . . we’re family. And it’s well, not easier, it’s definitely not easier, but . . . when it’s over, that’s it, you know?”

Hat nodded, “Yeah. Exactly. It sucks, and I’d rather get chased by a pack of raptors than go over any of their knees for sure, but they do it because they care, and they don’t want me to get hurt doing stupid stuff, and after, there’s, you know, the cuddles, and then we all just . . . .” he made a vague motion that had the others nodding along.  

And Connor had thought this couldn’t get any weirder, “ _Cuddles_? **_Cutter_**?”

Now all of them just looked really sad. Trousers looked stunned. “So, your Ni . . . _Cutter_ , he never . . . not _once_? Not even a hug?”

Connor shrugged, “Well, yeah, once or twice, when Tom died and I said I couldn’t do it anymore . . . and sort of when I shot the raptor in the shopping center, at Stephen’s funeral, and . . . “

“Oh, Connor, I’m sorry, mate.”

“Me, too.”

“Me, three.”

“That’s rough. Don’t let it get you down, though, I’m sure he still cares about you just as much.”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. Your Cutter’s just . . . less demonstrative, is all.”

Not sure why he suddenly felt like a beaten puppy, Connor managed a half-hearted, “Yeah, you’re right. Less demonstrative, that’s it.”

Just as he was trying to decide if he wanted to find out more or change the subject and avoid ever coming back to it, six anomalies winked into existence all around them. Jacket whooped, “Wouldya look at that! Looks like the exact same ones reopened!”

Shoe grinned, “Should take us all right back on home then.”

Hat stood up with the rest of them, “Just to be sure, let’s all give it a few minutes, then stick our heads back through in case anyone’s got stuck somewhere wrong. If there’s a problem, whoever can just come right back through and wait here for the rest of us to come help sort out what to do next.”

They all nodded, ‘Yeahs’ and ‘Sounds goods’ thrown out, as well. Connor pointed out, “Shouldn’t we go ahead and go through? Before anyone decides to come through from the other side?”

Shirt agreed, “This whole thing is complicated enough as it is, with just the six of us. On three, then?”

Nodding to each other and exchanging final hand clasps, each universe’s Connor Temple went to stand by his own anomaly. Meeting eyes across the loose circle they formed, six voices counted as one, “One, two, THREE!”

And Connor stepped through onto familiar slippery rock, looked up at the same tall trees clinging to the steep gorge rising up in front of him, and was grabbed from the side and spun to face Stephen, who looked him up and down, clapped him on the shoulder harder than necessary and opined “You’re a bloody stupid idiot and it’s good to have you back.” He turned back to call up the slope behind them, “He’s here. I’ve got him. No damage that I can see.”

As Abby’s worried face appeared from above, Connor yelped, “Just a sec!” And dashed back through the anomaly, waved at his counterparts, saw them signal they were okay, and darted back through to rejoin his team. He was caught once again by a gaping Stephen, just as the anomaly winked out and was gone. Taking advantage of Stephen’s surprise, Connor slipped by him, scrambling up the slope and back to the rest of the team, responding to Abby’s cry of, “Connor!” with a smile and a wave, and then returning her enthusiastic hug just as firmly. Cutter strode forward as she was letting Connor go, stopping short and taking ahold of his shoulders, “Good to have you back. Now _just what in the hell were you playing at_. . .”

Hours later, back at the ARC, when everyone had finished their yelling, Connor stood alone in the break room, staring blankly at his mug. Abby came to stand beside him. “You know, it generally works best if you add the water while it’s still hot . . . Connor? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing . . . just, thinking. I’m fine, Abby. Really. It’s fine.”

“Ok, if you say so. Let me know when you’re ready to head home; you owe me a pizza, remember?”

“Sure. Shouldn’t be too much longer. And if I’m paying, then we’re getting anchovies on _something_.”

“In your dreams, Connor!” drifted back through the door as Abby left.

Connor abandoned his still unmade tea and just stood, unseeing eyes downcast. “Yeah. Everything is okay. It’s fine. Shouting’s all over. And it’s just _fine_.”  

 

**_Present Day, the ARC_ **

 

Three days later, things were still _just fine_ with Connor Temple. He was having trouble sleeping and couldn’t bring himself to eat anything, but these things happened from time to time, no cause to worry. Now he just needed to get this report written up. Connor stared at his fingers on the keyboard. For the first time that he could remember, he was at a lost as to what to type. The superficial differences between his home universe and the five other universes, or what he knew of those universes based on a few hours with the other Connors, were easy enough. He had already spent an hour making a chart mapping out the differences in the roles of major players at the ARC, and another hour creating a spreadsheet of the relative differences in the timing, location and ‘plot’ of various anomaly-related incidents across the universes. Summarizing that information in written form had taken him another half an hour. Now he was out of official ways to avoid the main sticking point – did he include the largest, the most shocking, the most obvious, difference he and the other Connors had discovered among their universes? Or did he leave it out and never tell a soul? Even if that one, very uncomfortable, detail might well prove to be highly important to understanding this whole ‘alternate universe’ twist to the anomalies in the future?  

Connor knew that Cutter had already been unusually patient and undemanding in regards to this particular incident report. While he had definite views on ‘unnecessary paperwork for its own sake,’ the Professor was a stickler for the ‘very necessary’ paperwork involved in studying and interacting with the anomalies and the creatures that came through them. Cutter expected reports to be filed promptly, and in detail. He reviewed all of them himself before providing an executive summary of his own for Lester, and he did not like to have to chase anyone down to obtain their contribution. He especially disliked finding someone putting other non-urgent work ahead of writing their reports. So the fact that he hadn’t said word one to Connor about this particular report, despite it being a full three days late, was something about which Connor was suitably and heartily appreciative. It didn’t make writing the thing any easier.

Connor wondered if he could get away with putting it into a footnote. Set it aside as an interesting curiosity, a difference that did not bear more than passing mention, or, more crucially for his own wellbeing, scrutiny, by anyone, ever. Unfortunately, irrespective of Cutter’s insistence on detailed and precise documentation, Connor’s own scientific standards wouldn’t let him leave anything out of a report, especially something this big. And potentially very consequential. At least highly consequential for him, even if it proved trivial in relation to the developing theory of anomalies. He wanted to fervently hope that the consequences would not involve a change in behavior by any of his teammates. Connor was troubled that he didn’t seem to be hoping that. He should be confident that the contents of his report wouldn’t change a thing between him and Cutter, ( _and Stephen, and Becker, too . . ._ ) yet he wasn’t sure at all.

The thing was, the other Connors had all been obviously, deeply upset to find out that his relationship with his team did not include . . . that aspect. As if he was somehow missing out on something huge and important and special. But . . . they had been talking about being _spanked_. By Cutter. Because he had done something Cutter hadn’t liked. _Something stupid, something reckless_ , his brain unhelpfully supplied. They had said there were cuddles. They had implied that his Cutter must not care for him at all. That, even though they hadn’t used the word, their Cutters _loved_ them, and the smacking thing was proof of it. They had seemed bedrock-certain that each of their Cutters regarded each of them as _his_ , that he felt for them in a way that Connor could never see his Cutter feeling towards him.

Connor knew Cutter found him annoying at times, and sometimes thought that Connor wasn’t as professional as he should be. _He didn’t want you on the team in the first place. Didn’t want anything to do with you_. He knew Cutter respected his brain and his work. _Grudgingly_. _When he couldn’t find a reason to dismiss it_. And found his contributions useful, even crucial, to the work they did at the ARC. He thought that Stephen and Abby, and Becker and Lester felt the same way. He was a colleague, and a friend - sometimes, for some of them, a good friend. _When they needed something. When there was no one else to turn to_. He may have wished for more. Who didn’t? Who didn’t want to be close to a group of people? All the crime fighting gangs he’d read about and watched over and over in movies and TV shows acted like families. He knew full well that real life didn’t work like it did in books and on screen, but part of him had always hoped. Hoped that one day, if he somehow did grow up and find his way onto a motley crew of do-gooders, that he would also find a family. Connor had gotten his wish, and then lost it, and been given a second chance to get it back again. He was not going to look the gift horse in the mouth. If only he hadn’t had five other gift horses with much nicer teeth forcibly paraded in front of him; if only those five horses hadn’t all had riding crops attached their saddles.

Enough stalling. He had gotten to where he was by three lights – dogged persistence in the face of rejection (and mockery, and scorn – _Cutter’s scorn_ , _Stephen’s mockery_ ); refusal to acknowledge inconvenient truths unless forced to do so; and, when needs must, powering through the unpleasantness and damn his emotions.

Connor got up and headed to the break room. Maybe his half of the leftover pizza from three nights ago would have gone bad by now and eating it would give him some rare bug that would wipe his short term memory of recent events, leaving Cutter to rely on the current state of his report for information and leave Connor himself un-interrogated. And he shouldn’t be working this hard on an empty stomach. That he hadn’t felt up to eating hardly anything since his return was not relevant… though tea might be a better place to start than pizza. Tea always helped. Tea should help with how dizzy he was feeling, too. A nice, warm, caffeine- and-sugar-laden beverage should work a treat. He’d just sit for a bit, and then put the kettle on. Maybe put his head down for a bit of kip.

There was someone tapping his face.

“Connor? _Connor_? C’mon, can you hear me? He just dropped into the chair and went over sideways. I only just caught him in time to keep his head from cracking on the floor.”

“Right, here we are, let’s see if that helps him come ‘round.”

There was a lovely cool wet thing on his forehead. And warm steady hands under his head, and against his jaw.

“Ah, there we are. Back with us, lad? No, you stay there for a bit.”

“Too early to sit up just yet, Connor. Stay down and take your time.”

He blinked and scuffed linoleum came into focus. Connor reached up and touched the wet cloth on his forehead, pushing aside the sensation of his palm grazing the back of the hand ( _Cutter’s hand_ ) holding his cheek off the cold tile. “I fainted, didn’t I?”

Stephen met Cutter’s eyes over his head, “Yeah, I was just coming in when you went down. You okay? What happened?”

Connor scooted out from under their hands and carefully propped himself up against the cabinets, keeping the cool cloth pressed to his head despite the water now running into his eyes. “Thanks for catching me, mate. Must have looked a right prat, keeling over like that. Story of my life.”

Cutter frowned at him, “You’re too hard on yourself. With what you get up to around the anomalies, this hardly counts as a pratfall.” Stephen glared, and Cutter appeared to realize how that must sound. “I mean I’m glad you didn’t hit your head. And I’m sure you fainted in a very graceful manner.”

Rolling his eyes, Stephen added pointedly, “And you’re no more accident prone around the anomalies than any of us. Nick and I have had our fair share of tripping over our own feet, haven’t we?”

Cutter shrugged, “Aye. I suppose so.” Shifting his crouch a bit to give Connor space, the Professor refocused. “What made you faint? Are you feeling ill?”

Connor used the cabinet to lever himself ungainly to his feet. “Just hungry, that’s all. Too long staring at a computer screen, too, most like.”

“You spend hours at a time working on the Anomaly Detector and updating your database. You’ve never had a problem with screen time before.” Both Cutter and Stephen were looking at him too closely for Connor’s comfort now.

“You may be right. I think I’m coming down with something after all. I should just go ahead and head home, get a load off and break out the LemSip and all.” Connor moved to walk around his colleagues, and was stopped by a hand on his arm, then another.

Guiding him over to a chair, Nick and Stephen pushed him down into it. Stephen leaned himself against the table on one side and Cutter settled in the chair on the other, hemming Connor in. Cutter leaned towards him and looked him in the eyes, “We know you’re not telling us something, Connor. What is it? Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing.” _The other Connors don’t think you care about me. I think they’re right._ “I just, uh, _forgot_ , to eat recently. Been working hard on that report, yeah?”

Stephen beat Cutter to it, “How long ago since you ‘forgot’ to eat?”

“Um, not sure? Last night? No, Abby asked if I wanted Chinese if she got take-away, and I said I was fine . . . yesterday lunch? Maybe?” Connor hunched over a bit under the glares coming from both sides of him. “I’ve been busy working.”

Cutter stood up and pronounced, “Well, you’re going to eat now. I’ll see what’s in the fridge. Stephen, find where the take-away menus have gotten to. You, stay there and have a rest. You’re still pale.” Connor knew when it was best to just sit and let things flow on around you. He was hungry; he recognized this shaky, dizzy feeling all too well. And the Pot Noodle (beef teriyaki flavor) set under his nose was familiar, too. Taking advantage of a stalling tactic when he smelled it, Connor accepted the plastic fork offered and began slowly slurping up mouthfuls. He replied with a shrug when Stephen asked if he had a preference for the type of take-away. Stephen pushed, “You’ve got to pick something, Connor. It’s no good if we order and then you won’t eat it.”

Cutter cut in, “It’s alright, Stephen. Just get whatever looks good. I’m sure there’ll be something we can all eat. The Vietnamese place a few blocks over does good soup, right?”

Stephen grunted, “Pho it is. I’ll get a bunch of other things, as well, give us options.” Stephen stepped away to call in their order on his mobile, and Cutter sat back down next to Connor. “Once you’ve had a chance to eat some, I want you to tell me what’s going on. And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I know something’s up. It’s not like you to skip meals.”

Connor reflected that Cutter didn’t know as much about Connor as he thought he did. Stephen rejoined them with, “It’ll be about thirty minutes. I ordered us drinks as well; their basil limeade is great.”

Connor set his fork down, “I’d have thought you’d be more up on foreign foods, Cutter. With all the traveling you’ve done for work.”

Cutter pointed his finger at Connor’s fork, “Don’t stop now. I enjoy foreign food. I just like to wind Stephen up by pretending I don’t.”

Stephen smirked, “He’s a man on a mission whenever there’s a chance of eating like a local. He just likes to pretend he can’t pronounce any of the names. Something about being able to call something by its proper name in the language of the place it’s from making him look like a pretentious twat.”

Cutter nodded, “Well, that’s what Helen always said about it, anyway.” He grimaced, “I may need to stop going by Helen’s opinion of things.”

Stephen muttered, “You think?” at the same time as Connor added, “You and Stephen both,” not nearly as quietly as he’d meant to, into his noodles. The dead air behind that comment was punctured by Cutter’s mobile going off. He stood and walked to the doorway to answer it. Connor turned to look at Stephen and opened his mouth to apologize.

Stephen waved his hand. “You were right. We need to stop avoiding talking about it. Not talking is what got the two of us into it in the first place.”

Connor agreed, “Not talking and you both being pig-headed gits and wanting the other to see it all your own way.”

He froze when Cutter spoke up from behind him, “Agreed. There needs to be more talking. Starting now. That was Lester. He wants to know when he can expect your incident report.”

Connor made himself shift position and keep eating. If he went slowly, he should have another three mouthfuls worth of stalling left. Nick sat back beside him as Stephen pulled a chair over and sat next to Cutter. At least they weren’t blocking him in on both sides now. Cutter wiped his hand over his face, “Look. I think there’s something about writing that report that’s got you twisted up enough that you’ve gone off your food. Something happened when you were on the far side of that anomaly. Did someone, did one of the other Connors, do something to you?” In a moment of distressing insight, “Did they say something?”

Connor glanced at the clock, wishing he knew how long ago they’d ordered the food; he could use it arriving right now. And now he was out of noodles. He shoved to his feet, “I’m for some tea. You two in?”

His distraction worked both better and worse than he’d hoped when he wobbled sideways and had to be sat back down by Cutter. Stephen frowned at him, “I’ll get it.”

Thankfully, Cutter seemed inclined to let things lie until the tea was made, although Connor could feel himself being watched by both men as the sounds of kettle, cups, and boiling water filled the air where words could have been. Connor sat and concentrated on breathing, and not thinking about anything other than his hunger, and the food that was coming. If he didn’t think about what he might ( _could, should, had to_ ) say, he wouldn’t blurt out anything he didn’t mean to. He ignored the problem that not having an explanation thought out and making one up on the spot was equally likely to lead to him blurting something out. Stephen handed three mugs off to Cutter, and set the large teapot on the table himself. He sat back down after returning for the milk and sugar on the counter. Connor’s reprieve was extended a bit more as Cutter poured and the three of them doctored their tea. He noticed that Cutter left extra room in his mug, room that was filled with extra milk and sugar by Stephen when Connor stopped adding when the liquid was still below the lip of the mug. Connor magnanimously chose not to comment.

A few slurps of tea, and Stephen’s mobile signaled the arrival of the food, but not his departure. The soldiers on the gate were apparently in a good mood and were sending one of theirs to deliver the food directly to the break room. Take-away received, another five minutes passed in unpacking, proportioning and securing utensils and serviettes. Cutter was right: the pho was delicious. And Stephen was right about the basil limeade, as well. Connor said as much once he’d gotten over the brain freeze of having one, well-iced, after the other, piping-hot. He only got concurring hums in reply. And now both men were refocused on him. Lovely. That would be the end of Connor’s luck, then.

“You know Connor, the thing that happened on the other side of that anomaly . . . you can tell us about it. It’s shaken you, I can see that. If it’s that bad . . . I want to help. “

Stephen leaned in beside Cutter, “We both want to help. I know it’s hard, but not talking won’t do any good.”

Connor dropped his spoon and glared, “So you’ll just drag it out of me, one way or the other, is that it?”

Stephen frowned, “No, that _isn’t_ it. We can’t make you talk. But I have a feeling that whatever’s going on, you need to talk about it.”

Cutter came in with, “It doesn’t have to be us. But you’ve got to tell someone Connor. It’s not healthy for you to keep it all to yourself.”

Connor cut his eyes up from the tabletop. “Not healthy for the anomaly program, you mean. Can’t have me getting in the way of that.”

“That’s not what I meant at all!” Connor twitched away in response to the sharp retort.

Stephen’s hand was covering his, “ _Connor_. Please, just tell us.”

Cutter’s hands were on both his cheeks, and his face was right in front of Connor’s. “Aye. We care about you, and we want to help with whatever this is that’s eating at you.” Connor couldn’t stand to have them touch him. He yanked himself away from the skin-on-skin that was making him feel like he ought to be trembling apart under those palms.

“ _Don’t say that!_ I know you don’t. You don’t even _like_ me! You just tolerate me because I’m _useful_. You care about the ARC, and the anomalies, and what I can do with those. You don’t care about me! Not about _me_ , so don’t you _dare say that!_ ”

He was shaking, his back against the wall, holding him up, and then he was sat there, trying to hold himself together and not look up, _whatever you do, don’t look up_. Because even if they might take pity and never confirm it out loud, their eyes couldn’t lie. Now there were two warm weights against his sides, pressing in and bolstering him up. A hand was once again covering his, both of his, where they clutched each other against the shaking. An arm was gentling around the back of his neck, squeezing where his neck and shoulder met. Breath warmed the chilled stretch of skin along jaw and neck, “Okay, alright. We won’t say anything. Let’s just sit here and breathe for a bit.”

Connor hiccupped and tried to breathe, only to breathe. But the cork had popped out of the bottle, and there was no way to keep things from overflowing now. “They said . . . they said that it was _fine,_ they were _sure you cared for me just as much_ , you were just . . . _less demonstrative_. An’ I, I don’, I want, you’re _not_ . . .”.

He curled away into himself but the warm weights followed. Now they both had arms around his back, cocooning him on three sides. It wasn’t fair, this wasn’t right, it wasn’t _real_ , and he was going to destroy any chance of it happening again, was going to sour it now so even the memory curdled, because he was going to say it, he was going to _tell_. Connor held the words at the back of his throat. He worked at only letting his lips open enough to let out wet animal noises of distress. He held the need to list sideways so that his head rested against a firm, warm chest at a precarious balance, a bubble poised to pop. He could not balance and keep silent, both. Connor crumpled down into Nick Cutter’s arms on a tearful moan. He lay there with his cheek against solid flesh, cold air sliding into the hollow space along his sides where movement had withdrawn him from the caring press of their bodies. He felt the cool creeping over him and knew that it was going to grow; he would be apart, and alone, as they withdrew.

The dense heat of another’s body displaced the cold, pushing it aside with advancing warmth and weight. Strong arms tightened their hold, bodies readjusted closer. Connor clung and soaked in the warmth, and tried not to think beyond this moment, where he just might be cared for, for as long as the bubble didn’t burst.

The bubble held, sustained by three chests rising and falling in synch. There was shifting, but it didn’t lead to the bubble breaking either, just changing shape some as his two bolsters settled into positions better for the long haul. Connor gasped, “I’m sorry.”

A Scottish burr vibrated against his ear, “Shush. There’s naught to be sorry for. Only ones who need to be sorry are those who told you all that’s got you so upset.”

 _I shouldn’t have let it upset me. It’s a stupid thing to get worked up about. It doesn’t matter._ “They said there were cuddles, because they were family. An’ they didn’t like it, but, but, they thought . . . . they _thought you must not care for me at all if you didn’t do it too!_ ” Connor pushed his tear-wet face into Cutter’s chest and clutched Stephen’s hand closer and gasped out into high-pitched sobs, body lose and yearning for closeness now that the poison words had been spilled.

“ _Oh, Mate_ . . . “

” _Och, laddie_ . . . “

Connor had to make himself say it, “It doesna, doesn’t, doesna ma-matt--”

“It does matter. Don’t you say it doesn’t.” Cutter and Stephen pulled closer in tandem, the three of them constricted into a ball of closeness and comfort. Connor wished his hollow stomach full of awkward feelings didn’t fit inside that ball.

“Whatever that lot, those other Connors, were talking about, they were talking out of their arses. I _do_ care for you. Very, very much.”

Stephen’s voice vibrated in harmony to Nick’s, “I care about you. So much. I’m sorry I made you doubt that.”

“You didn’t, they . . .”

“Couldn’t make you doubt it if you knew it for sure. That’s on me, Connor. I do care about you and I should make sure you know that.”

“Exactly. If there’s any doubt in your mind, it’s because I put it there. I’m sorry, lad. You’re very important to me, and I ought to show you that.”

Connor stopped protesting in words but he couldn’t stop shaking his head. They didn’t _get it_. “I know you care.” He sounded like a six-year-old insisting that Father Christmas really _was_ real while staring right at his dad holding the bag full of presents.

Cutter’s deep breath thrummed in the chest under him, “Aye, we _do care about you_. I don’t know how else to say it . . .”

Stephen murmured, “You said they said it was ‘because they were family’.”

Nick Cutter could feel the penny dropping in his head. _Oh. Trust Connor, all of them, to hit the nail on the head_. “Connor. You _are my family_. As is Stephen, and Abby. And, no, I’m not just saying that because of what you said. I know it’s the worst timing, and I wish that I’d found a way to say it to you sooner, but it’s _true. You’re family_. And that has nothing to do with the ARC, or the anomalies, or any of it besides how I feel about you. “

Stephen jumped in as the last word left Cutter’s mouth, “You _are_ family, Conn. I have a little brother, and I forgot to let him know it. So I’m telling you now: Connor Temple, you are my little brother, part of my family, and that’s the truth. And you don’t get rid of family.”

“Aye, not ever. You’re stuck with us, lad.”

Connor shook his head; they still wouldn’t _see_. “I, that’s nice, and . . . thanks. What you said about family and . . . your feelings, I . . .” He couldn’t find a way to say it.

Cutter frowned at Stephen over Connor’s back. There was something . . . Connor had said something about family. And cuddles. He thought about his own family, and cuddles, and what his da and mam used to say when they were all snugged up together, and the penny flipped over in his head. _Nick Cutter, you can be a dense sod sometimes. No wonder poor Connor doesn’t believe you._

“Connor, I love you. You’re family because I love you and I love you because you’re family. And there’s an end to it.” _And he was three times an idiot for not recognizing his own feelings until now_.

Stephen’s face showed his own consternation at not having realized the obvious. “I love you, too, Connor. I know I keep saying the same as Nick, but it’s still just as true. I love you, little brother. Welcome to the family.” Stephen jostled their mutual bundle, joining Nick in an ungainly rocking attempt at cuddling the loved one between them.

Connor whimpered and burst out with more sobs, and began a low moaning keen. Nick rocked back and forth, rubbing gently the bits of Connor under his hands, aware of Stephen doing the same. The both of them continued to repeat their care, their love, in soft tones, naming Connor’s place in their family. It was quite a few minutes for Connor to quiet, and at least five more of all three of them laying still and close in the silence beyond that, when their lad ( _oh and he was theirs, no doubt and no hesitation over that_ ) stirred and stretched to change position. Gingerly untangling themselves as their limbs protested the long time spent in unconventional postures, Connor, Stephen, and Cutter rearranged themselves so they were seated side by side, and then used each other as supports to wobble to their feet.

In unspoken coordination, Stephen and Nick walked Connor back to the table, seating themselves on either side of him, chairs and bodies as close together as possible. Leaning forward and putting his hand over Connor’s where it rested on the tabletop, Cutter directed, “Okay. That was a lot just now. We should heat the food up if need be and finish our dinner. Give a bit for things to settle before we pick them back up.”

Connor nodded shakily, “Yeah, sure. M’still hungry.”

Leaving Connor to his big brother, Nick got up and collected their plates and the take-away cartons, taking them to the microwave in the corner. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Stephen plied Connor with limeade and idle talk of one of their expeditions where he had tracked an endangered marsupial through the bush for a day and a half. Connor, obviously exhausted and run down, listened quietly and worked his way through two limeades in quick succession. When he brought their reheated dinner to the table, Cutter made sure to grab the empty drink cups and refill them with water from the tap. They were all likely dehydrated from their emotional and physical exertions. With that thought, he slipped over to the cabinet where they kept the break-room equivalent of a medicine chest, and located the rehydration salts. He mixed two cups worth and brought them to the table, with a significant look to Stephen as he set them down. They sat in silence after that, each concentrating on his food, and Nick and Stephen concentrating on Connor’s consumption and demeanor. It was testimony to how drained Connor really was that he accepted the rehydration salts without a glance and only seemed to register the taste after he’d already drunk three quarters of the first cup, and then finished both that cup and the next with only a brief grimace and a half-hearted shrug. Even with spending half their dining time actually managing Connor’s eating, Nick and Stephen still finished and put their spoons down as Connor was pushing his bowl away.

Connor yawned, and blinked. “Sorry. Haven’t been sleeping well either.”

Nick sighed internally at the hesitant look Connor sent him, as if expecting to be rebuked, or told to pull himself together and get back to work. Clearly, he only had himself to blame. It was becoming apparent that he had been so caught up in dealing with his own emotions that he’d neglected to pay proper attention, or care, to the effect he was having on others, and how his actions, and inactions, affected their emotions. He’d need to work on that. Best to set that aside and deal with what was in front of him for now. “C’mon, you two; you’re both staying at mine tonight.   Connor, you’ve still got clothes in your locker?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Good. I’ll go with you to get those, and Stephen can find wherever I left my keys in my office.”

“Ta for that.”

“My pleasure.”

A silent trip to the lockers later, Cutter drove the three of them back to his house, with Connor beside him in the passenger seat this time, and Stephen sat in back. He and Stephen made short work of putting on fresh sheets, guiding Connor into bed and tucking him in; the poor lad was asleep before his head hit the pillow. At his insistence, Nick left Stephen to set up the fold-out bed in the office for himself and gratefully took himself off to bed. He did not remember falling asleep.

 

**_Present Day, ‘Glove’s’ Universe, Nick Cutter’s House_ **

 

Waking with his alarm, Nick hastened to slap it silent. Connor needed his sleep, and he was already in an unfamiliar bed. With that thought, Cutter roused himself and tiptoed down the hall to make sure the alarm hadn’t awakened their guest. Connor appeared to be out like a light. Thinking that he would normally go for a run, or at least a brisk walk down the shops for the paper, Cutter contemplated Connor waking up to an empty house and decided he could skip his constitutional this morning. Stephen had apparently had the same thought, as his trainers were by the door where he’d toed them off last night, unmarred by tell-tale dew. The man himself was in the kitchen watching the toaster. Without turning around, he told Nick, “Coffee’s already on. I’ve got the toast, if you want to see if you’ve got anything to go on it.”

Cutter found the marmalade in the fridge, and some Nutella in the cabinet. “Connor’s still dead to the world. We ought to talk before he makes his appearance.”

Stephen passed Nick his coffee, “We have to be careful. The way he’s feeling, we don’t want it to seem like we’re plotting behind his back.”

“Or ganging up on him. I’ve been an idiot. You’d think I’d have learned by now that you need to tell people how you feel about them.”

“You and me, both. I’d make a crack about our being ‘just two regular blokes who don’t do feelings,’ but that’s kind of the point.”

“It is. And I don’t think it’s made either of us any happier, to keep things to ourselves.”

“Any idea what those other Connors told him? Specifically, I mean.”

“I’ve a few ideas, but I feel like there’s some big part that we just aren’t seeing.”

“Yeah. Something about the way he said it, ‘they didn’t like it but they thought that you must not care for me at all if you didn’t do it too.’”

“Aye. ‘they didn’t like it’ . . . sounds off. I can’t imagine what it could be that Connor wouldn’t like my doing, and it’d still make him feel cared for.”

“Something that involved family.”

“And cuddles.”

“Yeah. I’m going to grab a shower, unless you wanted to go first?”

“No, you go ahead. I’m going to see what I can work out for breakfast for when Connor gets up.”

As the two men turned towards their respective tasks, there was a knock at the door. And then another knock and the person kept on knocking this time. Stephen wheeled around, stalked to the door in long strides and yanked it open and went still. Coming up behind him Cutter felt his body and brain stutter to a halt. On the other side of his front door was . . . him. Another Nick Cutter. In a track suit with a hoodie pulled up over his head. “Can I come in? I’ve come to discuss some things with you, and we don’t know how much time we have.”

Stephen and Nick knocked into themselves shuffling back to let their unusual guest enter. The other Cutter waved to someone across the street in a rental car, someone who looked exactly like . . . yep. There was Becker in the driver’s seat. Or, presumably, another Becker, rather than their own. Noticing them noticing ‘his’ Becker, the other Nick explained, “As I said, we don’t know how much time we’ve got, nor what we’d find on this side of the anomaly, so Becker came with me, and we’ve got Stephen back on our side, ready to radio in if it looks like the anomaly is closing. I’ll give Becker a call on my mobile in just a sec; he’s going to be listening in on our conversation, just in case.”

Cutter thought vaguely that he really should be more disoriented and upset by this than he was. Maybe his mind was insulating him from the shock somehow? He mentally shook himself. His double was obviously here for a reason; he wanted to know what that was.

They had reached the kitchen now and Cutter stopped, thinking for a moment, and decided, “Connor’s upstairs, asleep. We can go into the study; we’ll be able to hear if he gets up, and he won’t be able to overhear anything if he does come down without us noticing.” Turning to his alternate self, he asked wryly, “I assume I don’t have to ask how you take your coffee?” The other Nick chuckled, “No, you don’t. Thanks.” He accepted a steaming mug from Stephen, who had also retrieved his and Cutter’s earlier-abandoned mugs and handed Nick’s own mug to him as he passed by, leading their way to the study.

Once the three of them had settled, Nick and Stephen on the sofa and the other Nick Cutter in the club chair, coffees in hand, and the other Nick had called his Becker so the captain could listen in, an awkward pause ensued. Stephen broke the silence, “So, what should we call you?”

Their guest shrugged, “Cutter is fine; if you’re okay with being ‘Nick’ for the duration?”

Nick nodded, “Aye, that’ll be fine. Now, whatever it is you came here to tell us, I assume it’s got something to do with Connor - with the other Connors - with what the six of them got up to while they were on the far side of the anomaly together.”

‘Cutter’ sighed, “It does. I’m afraid the others, my Connor included, may have spooked your Connor a bit.”

Nick scoffed, “‘Spooked.’ He was a hell of lot more than ‘spooked’ last night.”

Stephen put a hand on Nick’s arm, and met Cutter’s eyes, “If you just thought our Connor had been shaken up a bit, I doubt you’d have gone to the trouble of arranging this visit. Something is very wrong here, and I want to know what it is. _Now_.”

Cutter agreed, “And I came here to tell you. It’s hard to know how to say it . . . what has your Connor said about what mine, and the others, told him?”

“Not much, besides that there were five other versions of him there and that they spent their time comparing their experiences with the anomalies, trying to find what was different in each of their universes. No details, though.” Stephen grimaced and added, “That should have tipped us off right away; Connor isn’t one to leave out details, especially when he’s excited.”

Nick nodded and told Cutter, “It’s been three days and he’s still not finished his report. Hasn’t been eating, nor sleeping either apparently. He came apart at the seams in the break room last night when we tried to get him to talk about it. He said . . .” He waved his hand, trying to remember the exact phrasing, “’They didn’t like it, but they thought…’”

“They thought you must not care for me at all if you didn’t do it, too’,” Stephen finished for him, adding, “We told him we did care for him, but he didn’t seem to believe us.”

Cutter exhaled, looking sad, “Aye. That sounds about right, from what my Connor said. The lot of them put their feet right in their collective mouths back there. And it sounds like they ended up kicking your Connor’s teeth in without meaning to. My Connor said he, and the others, were gobsmacked at the idea, and I can see why. But your lad must have had it much worse.” Nick’s mirror image shook his head ruefully, “Talk about a shock. Some things you expect, with the work we do; this, though . . .”

Nick could tell the other him was trying to ease into things, but this man, of all people, ought to know when to just _tell him_ something. “This _what_?! C’mon, Cutter, just say it.”

“Talking around it isn’t helping,” Stephen concurred.

Cutter lifted his eyes from his mug and regarded them solemnly, “Alright. It came out when they were discussing the anomaly with the pride of big cats. Your Connor went back for the sensors himself, yes?” Nick and Stephen both nodded. “And he almost got eaten by the pride for his trouble?” Faces grim, the two men nodded again. “What did you do about it once everything was wrapped up?”

Nick snorted, “I gave him a piece of my mind and then some, is what. Stephen too,” he gestured to his friend. “And Becker. And Abby.”

Stephen agreed, “And you made sure he stayed back with the MACOs on the next anomaly shout. He didn’t like that.”

“He wasn’t supposed to,” Nick said pointedly. “Why? You dealt with your Connor differently?”

Cutter looked grave, “I did. We - I and the other Nick Cutters - other than you that is - did.” Here they were, at the crux of the matter. Nick raised his eyebrows alongside Stephen who made an impatient gesture; _Well?_    The man from an alternate universe took a deep breath, “I spanked him. My Stephen and Becker had him over their knees, as well. He did disobey all three of us.”

Nick felt like a startled rabbit under the gaze of a predator. Stephen was statue-still next to Nick, but his tongue still worked, “ _You spanked him_? That’s . . . I . . . Wow.”

Cutter snorted. “I know the feeling. Didn’t even cross my mind, or Connor’s - my Connor’s - that you’d have let him off. That there was nothing to let him off _from_ . . . “

Nick knew the feeling, too. “And your Connor assumed that if I cared about my Connor, I’d be _smacking_ him? That makes no sense.”

“No, actually, it kind of does. Think about it, Nick. If the other Cutters did something to their Connors, punished them somehow – not smacking, necessarily, but something other than just yelling about it – and their Connors knew that their Cutters, and their ‘mes’ - their Stephens - did whatever it was because they cared what happened to them, it’s not too far a stretch to thinking that, if _you_ didn’t do anything besides yell, you didn’t care what happened one way or the other to _our_ Connor.”

Nick groaned, “Aye. It makes perfect sense. _Damn_. Five of them telling our Connor that I couldn’t be bothered to care, nor to do anything about it . . . the poor lad. No wonder.” He met his doppelganger’s eyes, “Do you think that? That if I cared, I’d be smacking the lad?”

Cutter shook his head, “Nae. I know you love him just as much as I do. I’m just not sure why you wouldn’t let him know that. Nor why you’d let him get away with doing dangerous, stupid things without punishing him for it _somehow_.”

Stephen frowned, “Connor’s an adult. And we both did some really stupid things back in the day, and had some truly spectacular rows about it, and neither of us ever thought the other one didn’t care about him.” He paused, “And neither one of us is Connor… who we didn’t exactly treat well when we first met him.”

Nick ran his hand through his hair and down across the nape of his neck, “That’s one of my regrets. Having been so dismissive of the lad. And dumping his thesis into the bin right in front of his face.” He winced at the memory. Looking back, he’d had quite a few moments of rank insensitivity, and, well, _meanness_ over the years. And not just with Connor.

Cutter turned to Stephen, “Yes, he’s an adult. But so were we when we were doing ‘some really stupid things back in the day,’ and I’ll bet you whatever you like that I and my Stephen did quite a bit less of it, with how we both agreed to deal with each other’s stupidity. Not that we didn’t row about things too.”

Nick and Stephen gaped at Cutter, and at each other.

“We, you . . . you’re saying we smacked each other?”

“My God. I can’t decide if you’re insane, or, or . . . I don’t know what. “

Nick’s double held out a folded slip of paper. Nick opened it to find a list of various scrapes he, and Stephen, and the two of them together, had gotten into in years past. There were quite a few missing. He noticed a second list alongside the first, titled, ‘ _Times One of Us Could Have Done Something Against the Rules and Didn’t Because We’d Learned Our Lesson_.’ Every incident missing from the first list was on the second. Feeling an uncomfortable certainty flowing through this body, Nick wordlessly passed the note to Stephen. They waited in silence for the tracker to finish reading. Stephen blew out a hard breath and flopped back into his seat. “Okay, I’ll buy the deterrent power of getting your arse smacked by your best friend, or your boss. What I don’t get is why it’s got to be a smacking. It wasn’t just a mutual accountability agreement with certain consequences agreed on in each universe . . .”

“The method of punishment was spanking in all the universes.”

Cutter looked thoughtful. “The only answer I can give you for that is that it works for us. I don’t know what it’s like in the other universes, if it’s a more widespread or accepted thing there, or not. But I know that it’s worked for me and my Stephen, and for the members of our team at the ARC. And I know that I love all of them – I love Connor, and Stephen, and Abby, and Becker, and even Lester – and if spanking is the way to help them keep from making stupid mistakes, and keep themselves as safe as possible given what we do, even if it means I’m subject to the same in my turn, then I’ll suffer through being on both ends of it, and gladly.”

And there is was. The thing that Nick, and he was absolutely sure Stephen too, had been unable, and avoiding, putting his finger on. _It worked for them_. As bizarre as it sounded, and as odd as it was to contemplate, he knew instinctively, in his heart and his bones, that a good spanking would work. It would work, and it would bring them closer together, not drive them apart. _Now what was he supposed to do about it_?

His eyes met Stephen’s in a moment of perfect understanding. Stephen shifted on the sofa so he was shoulder to shoulder with Nick. “I think you need to tell us as much as possible.”

 

An hour later, Nick Cutter was much more knowledgeable about the subject of applying his hand (and a hairbrush, or the slipper) to the bare bottoms of his friends and teammates than he’d been before. And he and Stephen had a lot to talk about at a date in the near future. As only someone who knows you as intimately as another version of yourself can, Cutter had explained why spanking worked for them, how it worked, and what all was involved, both in the laying down of rules and consequences, and in the doling out of those consequences when necessary. They’d just retired to the kitchen to take a coffee break after finishing the ‘quick and dirty overview’ of the topic when two things happened at once. The stairs creaked, signaling that Connor was awake, and about to step into the kitchen, and Cutter’s mobile emitted the deep tones of the other Becker, informing them that Cutter’s Stephen had made contact and they needed to get back to the anomaly, and back to their own universe, as soon as possible. Thus it was that Connor came into the kitchen only in time to freeze in shock at the sight of a second Nick Cutter, be greeted by the same with a brief hand-clasp and the reassurance that things would be fine, and watch the man hug his Nick and Stephen goodbye and hasten out, the door clicking audibly shut behind him.

Connor had thought he had no idea what to do now in the light of day after his loss of control in the break room, but now he really, truly _had no **idea** what to do_. His stomach did know, however. It grumbled loudly. Connor took the hint. “Breakfast?”

At least both Cutter (his Cutter, that was) and Stephen seemed to be in an equally awkward spot, Connor reflected. They all three busied themselves getting breakfast – more like brunch now – pulled together, moving around each other in the kitchen much more easily than one would have expected, and getting a decent spread laid out in record time. It turned out that Nick Cutter and Stephen Hart both knew how to make a very good morning fry-up. Cutter even had black pudding in the fridge, along with bacon, eggs and Lincolnshire sausage. Add to that some fresh tomatoes, yoghurt and fresh berries (for which Nick popped out to the local grocer around the corner,) and toast with marmalade, and, to Connor’s delight, Nutella, and there was enough of a meal to last them well into the afternoon. Connor ate his breakfast more slowly than he had his dinner, but with no less enjoyment. This time, neither Cutter nor Stephen seemed inclined to watch him eat, or push extra food onto him. Although they had more than enough to go around, Connor reflected. Pausing a moment to slather another piece of toast with Nutella, Connor informed them, “Abby called while I was upstairs. I told her I’d had a bit of a fainting spell last night, and you two had insisted on bringing me here rather than driving me home, given the hour.   Said I’d let her know when I was on the way back to the flat. She said to tell you two that you’re welcome to come and stay for tea, if you like.”

Nick smiled, “That’s kind of her. We might take her up on the offer. We need to all sit down and have a chat about what you learned from the other Connors.”

“And what it means for all of us,” Stephen concluded.

Connor’s heart sank. “So that _was_ another one of the Cutters. No hope that he hasn’t told you, is there?” Nick and Stephen both shook their heads.

“He arranged to come here specifically to tell us about it. And because he was worried about you, based on what his Connor told him,” Stephen said.

Nick looked solemnly at Connor, “I wish we hadn’t had to hear it from him first. But I understand why you couldn’t find a way to tell us. Especially after what the other Connors unintentionally made you believe about how we feel about you. The three of us are going to talk about it now, though.”

Connor’s eyes got big. “Now? Right now?”

Stephen smirked, “I think we can finish our breakfast and get showers first. Right, Nick?”

“Yes, of course. But no stalling after that. This whole thing has been dragged out enough.”

Connor chose to keep his mouth shut in response to that. He may be relieved that his secret was out in the open and he hadn’t had to be the one to spill the beans, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t determined to keep right on ‘dragging things out’ just as long as he possibly could. Soon enough, they were done eating, and Connor was shooed upstairs to be first in the shower, while Stephen and Cutter dealt with clearing and washing up. Once he was out of the shower and dressed in fresh clothes, Connor spent his time waiting for the other two men to finish their showers doing the updates to his creature database that he’d neglected in his focus on writing his report.

True to his word, as soon as they were all clean and accounted for, Cutter moved them into the study and launched into a recap of the conversation he and Stephen had had with the alternate Nick Cutter while Connor was sleeping. Nick didn’t pull any punches, including showing Connor the note from the other Cutter detailing the effect of his and the other Stephen’s mutual smacking agreement on their problematic behavior in previous years. This last revelation made Connor think ruefully, _I have got to stop thinking that things can’t get any weirder or more uncomfortable._

Stephen and Nick were at pains to reiterate and emphasize their love and care for Connor throughout the discussion, and how very sorry they were that it had taken Connor breaking down for them to be jolted into telling him how they felt. Connor wholeheartedly soaked up and appreciated their insistences, even if he found the subject matter that had prompted their declarations deeply disturbing. Nick recounted everything that had happened, including, much to Connor’s squeamish and appalled horror, the fact that the other Cutter had helpfully taught . . . _informed_ him about smac . . . _procedures_. Once all the crucial information had been passed on, Connor’s mentor sat back and shared a look with Stephen.

“Alright. Here’s the point, Connor. You’re an adult. And as much as I trust myself - the other Nick - when he said that spanking works for us, I’m not going to use that to manipulate you into agreeing to something.” He leaned forward into Connor’s space, “But think about this. If you didn’t know in your heart of hearts that getting a good spanking from one of us when you’ve crossed a line would make you feel loved, and secure about your place on the team, confident that you’re family, then why did hearing that the other Connors got spanked when you didn’t make you so upset? Questioning things between us, asking yourself if the other Connors might have a point, is one thing. Your reaction went way beyond that.”

And there is was. Connor _hated_ the idea of getting smacked. Especially by his teammates ( _his family_ ). And yet part of him yearned for it. He _wanted_ for them to do more than yell, to mete out concrete consequences when he acted foolishly ( _not to throw him back off the team, not that, please, anything but that_ ), and to reassure him afterwards of their care and devotion and his place in their motley crew of do-gooders. Connor did not want to agree to being spanked. Yet he knew that this was the right path for him and his team - his family. But he did not want to be mature and admit to that fact, because doing so meant he was going to get a smacking. And he realized full well that once he agreed, he wouldn’t be able to un-agree later on.

Connor Temple had tried persistence in the face of the way things had been. He’d done ignoring his own needs and the motives behind his actions. Connor had one stalwart tactic left, and that was to set aside his emotions and power through with what he knew to be right. And while he may not fully trust himself at times like this, he trusted Cutter and he trusted Stephen. He trusted the other Connors, and one of those Connors’ Cutter. “Ok. I’m in. If family means that I have to . . .” _That was a lie and he knew it_. “If it’s the right thing, it _is_ the thing to do - for us to do - then I guess I’m part of a family that, that . . . that spanks.”

Stephen grinned and pulled him into a bear hug, “Yep. Welcome home little brother. I’m proud of you for admitting that. And just remember that it’s a big brother’s job to keep his little brother safe and out of trouble.” His new brother accompanied this last pronouncement with several sharp swats to Connor’s bum. Connor yelped and squirmed away, glaring at Stephen, yet unable to wipe the smile off his face, nor keep the flush of happiness from staining his cheeks.

Cutter stood and embraced Connor. “My bonnie lad. Mine now and mine always, and don’t you forget it,” emphasized by two quick smacks of his own. Nick held Connor close three beats longer despite his wiggling response to the love taps, then released their geek and reseated himself on the sofa, gesturing for Connor to sit in the chair opposite. With a final gentle smile, Nick’s face turned serious. “We need to discuss what got you trapped with those other Connors in the first place.”

Connor slumped and glared mulishly, “You already yelled at me about it.”

Stephen shook his head. “I’ll leave you two to it. Big-brother rights or no, I think this is something that needs to be between just the two of you, at least this time.” Ignoring Connor muttering, “Who says there’s going to be _another_ time?,” Stephen left the study, mussing Connor’s hair as he passed.

Once his friend was outside, Cutter returned things to where they’d left off. “You agreed, Connor. And what you did was foolish and reckless; you deliberately disregarded what you knew I’d say if you asked me about it, and snuck around and did it behind our backs. That has more than earned you a spanking. Unless you have something to say in your defense?”

Connor pouted. He was an adult, and he shouldn’t be pouting, but he was and he couldn’t stop himself. Knowing that something would be difficult and shaming and painful, and agreeing to that thing in the abstract, were very different from actually experiencing it, as he was finding to his regret. “It got me information that proves that the anomalies can link alternate universes, not just time periods. That’s worth the risk.”

Nick Cutter wielded his brogue like a finely honed scalpel. “No information on the anomalies, or anything else we research, is worth risking your life. Whether the risk is worth the reward is not your call to make. It’s mine. And you intentionally did not tell me what you were thinking, so I couldn’t decide that the risk wasn’t worth it and veto you going through with your plan. If I don’t know what you’re planning to do, I can’t make sure you have backup, and this job is much too dangerous for any of us to be doing anything without backup. I learned that the hard way when Abby was taken by the mer-creatures. I will _not_ let you learn it the hard way, too.”

Connor gulped. This was not good. Cutter was making too much sense. He needed a leg to stand on and he didn’t have one. “Okay, okay. I get it. I shouldn’t have gone through. And I shouldn’t have gone by myself, and I should have told someone what I was doing. And I should have taken a hand-held Anomaly Detector with me. It was stupid.” He swallowed, his next words small and soft, “I messed up.” _Again_. “I’m sorry.”

Nick nodded, “Aye, you messed up. And you’re going to be spanked for it. Since we’ve never done this before, I think it’s a good idea if we go over what you can expect.”

Connor bobbed his head and wished he were anywhere else, “Okay.”

His mentor put his forearms on his knees and leaned forward so he was looking Connor sternly in the face. “In this family, you can always expect a spanking to be given with you over my knee, bottom bare.” He ignored Connor’s indignant, squeaked huff. “I will always spank you with my hand. If I feel you’ve earned it, I will use a hairbrush, or a slipper, as well. I will spank you soundly and well. I don’t expect you to keep still, or quiet. A spanking is meant to hurt. It’s also meant to make you cry, so you can get rid of feeling guilty and ashamed of your behavior, and because it hurts. You can kick and wriggle and try and get away and cover your bottom with your hand; I won’t think less of you or scold you for it, or spank you any harder. The same goes for crying; you can howl the house down if you need to, it won’t change a thing.” Now Connor was blinking rapidly and he had developed involuntary sniffles. “When it’s over, it will be over and done with, and you will be forgiven. I will always hug you afterwards, and hold you and comfort you for as long as you need.”

Nick chose not to mention the imposition of extra consequences on top of a spanking, or the possibility of multiple spankings over a period of time for a severe enough offense. Despite the seriousness of his young kin’s offenses, Cutter was certain that this being Connor’s first time over his knee would more than compensate for any ‘leniency’ on his part. And poor Connor looked overwhelmed and apprehensive enough right now. Having said all he thought needed to be said, Nick stood and reached down to gently but firmly pull Connor to his feet as well. “We’ll take care of things upstairs in your bedroom. Come along, lad.”

He led Connor out of the study and up the stairs, nodding briefly to Stephen in the front room as he passed, and ignoring the aborted pleas and sputtering coming from his protégé. When they reached the room in question, he brought Connor to stand by the bed and turned to face him. “As you said, you should not have gone through that anomaly. You should not have been anywhere near it in the first place. You deliberately disobeyed me by flouting a standing order about how we interact with the anomalies. You put yourself in unnecessary danger with your disobedience and recklessness, and you are getting a smacking for it.”

He seated himself on the bed, towing Connor to stand in front of him. Nick gestured toward the shaking Connor’s jeans, “You can lower them yourself or I can do it for you. Either way, they’re coming down, and then your pants once you’re over my knees.” Seeing that Connor was paralyzed, he reached up and made quick work of the lad’s button and fly, bringing the denim trousers down to his knees in one yank. Connor gasped at the precipitous loss of his clothing and gasped louder when Nick pulled him down over his lap, giving a strangled groan when his shorts were lowered to his knees as well, baring his bottom to his mentor’s gaze and hand.

Cutter’s other self had explained technique and process to him in a way that only someone on the exact same wavelength could do, and although he’d never done this before in his life, Nick felt confident that he knew what to do, and how to do it well. He had intentionally left out any details of that bit of his discussion with the other Nick, wisely assuming that Connor had no need to know about it, nor would knowing do anything but give the lad an unnecessary fright. He was going to make sure he did right by Connor, this first time, and every time after that. Nick Cutter adjusted the precious cargo over his knees and raised his hand. He brought it down, and Connor’s first-ever smacking began.

Connor yelped at the impact, then yelped again with each of the next three spanks. He seemed to master himself a bit after that and fell silent, although Nick could still hear his breath getting increasingly labored and see his shoulders hunch where his head hung just above the duvet. Keeping an eye and an ear out, Nick set a brisk pace, focusing on covering every inch of Connor’s bum down to his thighs with sharp smacks. He went relatively slowly at first, as he wanted Connor to feel both his predicament and the increasing sting in his quickly warming bottom, and know that the two of them were here due to Connor’s own poor choices, and that they were going to be here for a while. As his counterpart had noted, he could always go faster and harder.

Now Connor was hissing and whimpering softly as each smack registered, unconsciously wiggling as he shifted his weight from thigh to thigh, trying to shake loose the smart of Cutter’s palm connecting with already-sore skin. Nick spanked harder, speeding up so that he set Connor’s hips to wagging in earnest, and his feet to jerking in involuntary kicks. Connor couldn’t keep silent now, producing a continuous stream of ‘ows’, ‘ouches,’ and ‘aauuhs,’ increasingly accompanied by sniffles and wet hiccups.

His feet fluttering frantically, Connor’s hand shot back, “Aauuchaaaawww, Cutter, please! I’m sorry! It won’t happen again! Please, it’s enough. I, I’m s, s-ooowww-sorry! Pleease!”

Nick swept Connor’s hand away and pinned it to his side, using the movement to slide Connor forward so he could swing his leg over the lad’s thighs, pressing down firmly to keep him in place and stop his kicking legs from interfering. The process tilted Connor’s sore bottom to present a better target. Connor bucked and squirmed with vigor, body fighting the pain as its owner descended from semi-coherent begging into the ‘bwaaah-waah-awaaaaaah’ of a disobedient, naughty young man who was focused only on the penance being exacted via his scorching and tender bare bottom.

Part of Nick Cutter felt his stomach go a bit hollow as he internally cringed at Connor’s unabashed sobbing. His lad’s bottom was rosy red and getting rosier by the smack. Nick’s own hand was definitely feeling the proceedings as well, despite thickened palms and calluses developed over years of wielding trowels and brushes in the sun and the dust. Deciding that it was time to drive the point home, Cutter adjusted his arm and launched into volley after volley of hard, fast spanks, cracking his hand down on Connor’s shifting bottom, spending a while in each spot before moving on and concentrating over half of his efforts on the tender lower curve, Connor’s sit spots and upper thighs. He’d told Connor that he could howl the house down and it wouldn’t change a thing; Nick had to say that the wails emanating from beneath the quaking shoulders were both loud and lusty.

Cutter judged that they were almost done, a minute or two more should be sufficient. Nick raised his arm up high and brought his hand down with a loose wrist, landing a hard wallop, followed after a measured pause by another, and another. He covered Connor’s blazing bottom with a double round of slow, hearty slaps, then returned to his earlier pattern of bringing his hand down in fast, fiery smacks, then repeated the cycle of slow thwack and fast crack once more. Connor lay limp and wailing, his bottom radiating heat and quite red, as Cutter brought things to a close. Nick gradually smacked his hand down softer and softer, slowing up until his palm was popping against Connor’s blazing rear in a crisp tap once a second. With a final circuit of spanks that only just counted as worthy of the name, Nick Cutter stopped spanking Connor and let go a long, heavy sigh.

He slowly lifted his leg from its place just above Connor’s knees, releasing his hand as well and easing the lad’s limbs into a more natural and comfortable position. He shifted Connor’s weight a bit on his lap and laid both hands gently on the small of his back, rubbing soothingly there and between his shoulder blades. “It’s done now, Connor. I forgive you. We’re alright. I love you and care about you, no change there. Just take your time, there’s a lad.”

At first Nick’s words did not seem to register, and then Connor’s weeping increased in both pitch and speed, his head shaking side to side as he buried his face in the wet duvet. Despite often being a thick sod, Nick could recognize emotional overload when he saw it. He carefully reached down and eased Connor’s shorts up his thighs to just cover his bottom. Then he shifted forward, getting his arms under Connor’s torso and coaxing him up, turning the lad into his chest and wrapping his arms around him as he reseated himself securely back on the bed. All the movement brought another burst of frantic tears from Connor, who nonetheless curled into the embrace and fisted a handful of Nick’s shirt, pressing his face into the cloth. Nick ran his hands over Connor’s trembling back, rocking a bit and interspersing repeated reassurances with shushing and crooning noises of comfort. They sat there for a while, as Connor subsided from sobs to hiccups to sniffles and finally to wet breathing and the occasional whimper. As Connor became mostly silent, Cutter was content to hum softly, waiting for Connor to be ready to speak.

His protégé stirred stiffly, releasing Cutter’s shirt to swipe at his eyes, pulling away with a last rub of his blotchy, wet face against the solid chest. “M’Sorry. For being such a cry baby.”

Cutter frowned and tightened his arms, giving the foolish man a light shake, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just fine as you are. And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for having honest reactions. I thought I’d made it clear it’s supposed to be this way.”

Connor huffed thickly, “Supposed to be or not, don’t make it any easier, does it? An’ I _am_ sorry. About all of it . . . I was sorry before, too. Jus’ even more sorry now.”

Nick chuckled, “Well, I should hope so. Not much of a punishment if you can just shrug it off. No, don’t get your feathers ruffled, I’m not making fun of you. That was hard and was meant to be; you did well. I’m very proud of you for facing up to it. And for not fighting it when it got bad. There’s no shame in honest tears, lad.”

Connor sighed, what was meant to be a grumble coming out more plaintive than not, “Well, honestly, that _sucked_. And I don’ want to do it ever again.”

“Mmmhmm. As long as you behave, we won’t have to. I meant what I said. It’s over; you’re forgiven.” In a moment of clarity as Connor stilled and seemed to glide away as he disengaged himself, “And I still love you, and you’re still part of this family. Even if I have to smack you again, morning, noon and night, from now ‘til next Christmas, that’s not going to change.”

“Ta for that.” Connor sounded sulky, and like he was trying not to sound amused. “Same here, but I think I’ll leave the smacking to Stephen, if it’s all the same.”

Nick barked out a laugh, “Cheeky sod.” On that note, he eased them apart and followed Connor as he fumbled to his feet, catching his newest family member by the shoulders and steadying him into a hug when the movement brought new tears. He released Connor after a moment, studying him at arms’ length. Connor looked dreadful. His face was blotchy and tear-drenched, snot and saliva streaking the lower half. His hair was damp and straggled across his forehead where it wasn’t plastered to his cheeks. In short, he looked like he’d just been soundly spanked, and cried his eyes out because of it.

Cutter gave the shoulders under his hands a squeeze. “You ready to go show our Stephen you survived?”

There was a pause, and Nick was about to open his mouth and point out that Connor could take as much time as he needed, there was no rush, when Connor nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He stepped away just enough to reach down and gingerly draw his jeans back into place, whimpering as they slid over his abused backside, and doing the zip up but neglecting to fasten the button at the top. Connor reached around to cup both hands over his rear, “Wow. That is really hot. I can feel it right through my jeans.”

Cutter smiled crookedly, “Aye. For a while at the end there, I thought I might be getting a wee sunburn with the heat it was giving off.” He chuckled at Connor’s moue of distaste. “C’mon, you can show Stephen I haven’t killed you and we can see about something cool to take some of that heat out.”

Connor nodded and slid himself under Nick’s arm just as the professor was bringing it up to sling over his shoulders, to Cutter’s surprise and gratification. They walked like that down the stairs – slowly, in deference to Connor’s sore, stiff gate – and out into the front room. Where Stephen was seemingly reading the sports section, but Nick was willing to bet he hadn’t taken in more than two words of it. “Here we are, go show your brother you’re still in one piece.”

Connor shuffled forward, trying for steady and nonchalant and only managing to look sheepish and uncertain. Stephen shot up and was around the couch before he could get more than three steps from Nick. He stopped just short of Connor, vibrating as he restrained himself from grabbing on and instead slowly reached out, placing a hand on his kid brother’s shoulder and looking him in the eyes, “Alright, Connor? Looks like you’ve been through the wringer.” Stephen couldn’t quite keep himself from shooting Nick a reproachful look as he said it.

Cutter just looked drained, “Aye, well, we’ll see how you feel about it, when it’s you dealing with things.”

Connor glared at both of them. “I’m not _that_ bad! Who says it won’t be Stephen who runs up against it next? Or you, Professor?” Running back what he’d just said, Connor turned a bit green, “Ummm…”

Stephen snorted, grinning cheekily at the now-disgruntled-looking Nick, “Might be right there. I’d say, given past experience, that Nick is definitely in the running for next to get in trouble.”

Cutter growled. “You’re one to talk. Don’t think you’re out of danger yourself, not by a long shot. ‘Based on past experience.’” Pointedly changing the focus, Cutter looked at Connor, “Given the circumstances, I’d say you’d better call me Nick. . . . because we’re family now. Not just because of the smacking . . . I’m messing this all up aren’t I?”

Connor smiled at him, “Don’t worry about it, Pro-, _Nick_. It’s been a really weird couple of days.”

Stephen muttered, “You can say that again.” Seeing Connor relaxing throughout their banter, Stephen gave in and pulled Connor into a hug. “C’mere, you.” He was concerned at how hard Connor hugged him back, then mentally shook himself, _You’d be the same, if you’d had the morning he has, don’t pretend like you wouldn’t._ He firmly clamped down on the subsequent image of himself over Cutter’s knees. And ignored the thought that that would have been preferable to the angry tension between them following some of Stephen’s less-than-intelligent decisions over the years. He’d compare notes with Connor when, _if_ , the time came. Right now, he had a little brother to coddle. . . and Stephen had no real idea how to do that. Tea might work, but feeding Connor was out, as was watching something on the telly, or putting on a dvd, since that involved sitting. He stepped back and gave Nick and Connor a rueful look. “I feel like I’m supposed to be doing something to help here, but I can’t think of what.”

Cutter gave Stephen a commiserating look, “You’re right about that. I did say we’d find something cool to take some of the heat out of Connor’s bum.” In response to Stephen’s eyebrow raise, “He’s paid for his mistakes, I’m not going to insist he remain in pain when I can do something about it.”

Connor blinked at them, “Uh, thanks . . . I think.” That Cutter had been the cause of Connor’s current painful state didn’t need to be said.

Focusing in now that he had a trail to follow, so to speak, Stephen nodded, “Right. Let’s see about getting things cooled down, then. Connor? Back upstairs okay?”

Connor felt like he should be more embarrassed about basically being asked if he was okay with letting Stephen – no, letting _his big brother_ – take a look at his smacked bottom. Blush notwithstanding, that just sounded nice. Connor shrugged, “Yeah, sure. Just make sure you find something _really_ cold; my bum feels like you could fry an egg on it.”

Stephen agreed, “That is one theory that this scientist does not need to test out. Even if we do have eggs.” Lowering his voice, he leaned in towards Connor as they made their way back towards the stairs, “I’m going to wait until I can use Nick as the test subject.”

Connor’s bright laugh was joined by Cutter’s indignant, “I heard that, Stephen Hart!”

Stephen waved behind him impatiently, “Go see what you’ve got in the freezer that’ll work for an ice pack. And grab a tea towel while you’re at it.” Stephen listened to Connor hiss with every other step as they made their way back to the guest bedroom. Once they were inside, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it into the center of the bed, “Might be best if you get your shoes and jeans off first.”

He steadied Connor as he balanced on one foot and then the other, working off his boots, then snatched his pooled jeans off the floor when Connor stepped out of them and tossed them in the direction of the bureau in the corner. Standing back to let his brother clamber up onto the bed, he seated himself on the side, laying his hand on Connor’s lower back as his teammate wrapped his arms around the pillow and wiggled around so he was lying in a reasonably comfortable position. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of Connor’s shorts, “I’m going to take these down for you, okay?”

Connor nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, his ears and the back of his neck going pink. Lowering the material down to Connor’s knees as carefully as he could, all Stephen could think to say when he got a look at Connor’s bum was, “ _Wow_.” Now he knew where the phrase, ‘red as a smacked bottom’ came from, and didn’t _that_ look painful.

Connor raised up a bit so he could crane his neck around to look behind him. “Looks about how it feels, actually. _Smarts_.”

Stephen whistled lowly, “I’ll bet it does. Nick’s got a hard hand, I take it.”

Connor snorted, “Ya think? ‘Course, you’ll probably know all about that yourself, soon enough.”

Stephen rolled his eyes, “You just have to keep mentioning that, don’t you? Cutter spanking me.”

Connor looked both apologetic and defiant. “Helps to think I’m not the only one.”

Acknowledging the point, but refusing to comment, Stephen placed his hand lightly on Connor’s thigh and squeezed. “I’m going to fetch a wash cloth from the loo, and see if there’s any lotion stashed somewhere. I can put a couple coats on for you, if you think it’d help.”

Connor turned a deeper pink, nodded slightly and pushed his face down into the pillow. Stephen rose and did as he’d said he would, returning shortly with a wash cloth he’d run under the coldest water he could get out of the tap and a bottle of moisturizing lotion that he’d found on the back of the toilet. He heard a creak and glanced behind him to see Nick at the top of the stairs, holding a bag of frozen sweet corn wrapped in a tea towel out toward him. His friend waved him off in response to his silent question and tiptoed behind him to settle unobtrusively in the doorway, giving his young friends their space while satisfying his own need to hover. Stephen gently lowered himself back down on the side of the bed, “Here we go. This ought to help some.”

Connor tensed and whimpered when the wet cloth contacted his (really quite spectacularly red) bottom, then relaxed again on a sigh as the coolness registered. They sat that way in silence for a while. Stephen moved the cloth to the opposite cheek after a few minutes and replaced it with the bag of frozen vegetables on the first cheek. He gave Connor’s back a soothing rub in response to the startled squeak. Connor’s stomach sunk down into the duvet as his body released some of the tension it was holding, “Mmmm, tha’s nice. . . . Stephen?”

“Mmmhmmm?”

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I know. And thanks. It’s okay now.”

Another few moments passed in companionable silence. Stephen removed the cloth from Connor’s far cheek and replaced it with the impromptu ice pack. The brothers stayed that way, in warm comradeship for a while more, until Stephen lifted the sweet corn off and set it aside.

“I think we’ve gotten about as much as we’re going to get out of those two. You okay with me having a go with the lotion?”

Connor’s breath hitched, then gusted out of him, “Okay. Just . . . be careful.”

Stephen nodded, reaching for the bottle of lotion beside the bed at his feet, “Don’t worry, I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

He spurted a good dollop into his palm, then thought better and squeezed a second dollop directly onto Connor’s nearest bottom cheek. Stephen gingerly lowered his hand and ran his fingers through the lotion, pressing lightly as he carefully soothed it into the hot, tight skin. Connor shifted and released muffled sounds of discomfort into the pillow, but he didn’t ask for Stephen to stop, and his back relaxed again as the cream soaked in. Stephen was awed and humbled by Connor’s trust. He marveled at the intimacy of this act, his hand caressing his young friend’s bare bum, bringing comfort and affection, and none of the expected awkwardness. Once all the cream had been absorbed on Connor’s nearer cheek, Stephen repeated the process on the far one, taking his time and making sure to use the same amount of lotion. When that was finished, Stephen squirted more cream onto his fingertips and applied an extra coat to the lower curve of Connor’s bottom, the crease where bum met thigh and the upper thigh itself. The touch on the most tender spots of his punished posterior caused Connor to emit a whine or two but he hummed in appreciation as the lotion took effect. Done with the lotion for now, Stephen wiped his hands on a tea towel and leaned forward so he could rub circles on Connor’s back. “Hope that helped some. I can rub some more on for you later, if you want.”

Connor turned his head to look at Stephen, “Thanks. I . . . thanks, big brother.”

Stephen smiled down at him, “You’re very welcome, little brother.” He contemplated their options at this point. “Mind if we lie down with you and rest for a bit? Could use a kip after everything.” He gestured behind him to include Nick who had moved into the room itself at some point, but was still hanging back out of the way. Connor glanced between them, already looking dozy. “C’mon, then. But I’m not moving.”

Cutter strode forward, “Didn’t expect you to. Might want to scoot up closer to the head, though.”

Connor blinked a bit, nodded, and pulled himself together enough to reach down and ease his shorts back into place with one hand while he scuttled on his knees up the bed, using the other hand to shove the pillow ahead of him. With a soft, “Aaah,” their young family member flopped flat, wriggled into a comfortable position and resolutely shut his eyes. Cutter and Stephen made quick work of removing their shoes and carefully climbing onto the bed from both sides, each claiming a pillow and settling down on either side of Connor, who murmured groggily as the mattress jostled underneath him. Nick had fished an extra duvet out of the wardrobe and now he tossed one end at Stephen. The two of them shook out the duvet and settled it over the three of them, making sure it was tucked up around Connor’s shoulders before bedding down underneath themselves. Nick and Stephen turned to face their Connor, each reaching out an arm and looping it gently over the lad’s sleepy form. They shared a soft smile as their eyes drifted shut, taking their own necessary comfort from the proximity of family.

 

Connor, Nick and Stephen snoozed for an hour and a half, before the call of nature, and sunshine, insisted they bestir themselves. Upon getting up a second time, Connor seemed to be much steadier, and less vocal about the irritation to his backside caused by movement. Returning downstairs, the men naturally headed for the kitchen and a cuppa.

Connor was the first to break the silence, “I should really get that report finished. I still have no idea how I’m going to put the smacking in there.” His face split with a mischievous grin, “’Course, you two are in the same boat now, with the other Cutter visiting and all.”  

Cutter harrumphed, “Go on, rub it in.”

“I will, thanks.”

Stephen shook his head, “I think we can manage something between the three of us. Personally, I can’t wait to see Lester’s face. Twenty quid says he avoids saying the word ‘smack’ at all costs.”

Connor and Nick chuckled. Nick chimed in, “A tenner says he makes that face like he’s swallowed a spider and washed it down with a lemon.”

“You’re both on. Another twenty says he doesn’t want to know and we’re never to mention it again. And then he runs away back to his office as fast as he can go.” All three of them were giggling now. “I don’t mind so much now, having that in the report. Not when I’ve got Lester thrown for a loop to look forward to.”

Cutter nodded, “Aye, it does make a good incentive.” A pause. “If you have your laptop with you, why don’t you show us what you’ve got so far, Connor? May be it’ll be easier than you think to finish it up.”

Connor sighed, “No time like the present. I’ll just get it then.” He crossed to the front hall closet, extracted his messenger bag, and pulled his laptop from within. Setting it on the kitchen table, he surprised both of his friends by carefully lowering himself to sit in a chair.

“Okay, here it is. I got pretty much everything written up, and the charts done, so it’s just the awkward bit that needs doing.” He relinquished the mouse to Cutter as his mentor and Stephen read over his shoulder.

“This looks great. You’ve already got the comparison charts. Just put it in as another point of divergence in those, and throw a couple sentences into the middle of this summary here, and you’re done. “

Stephen nodded, “You can put it under differences in personal relationships, people tend to skim over those. Too much information. Call it . . . ‘a variation in conflict resolution’. The conflicts got resolved, that’s the important bit, the rest if just details.”

Cutter looked aghast. “Stephen James Hart! Have you been obscuring salient data in your publications?!”

Stephen grinned wolfishly, “Only in the ones we co-authored.”

Nick sputtered indignantly, the effect spoiled somewhat as at least half of the ‘sputters’ were unsuccessfully repressed chortles.

Connor’s face was the picture of studious virtue, “You can show him how it’s done on your co-authored report. Demonstrate your academic integrity and collaboration between colleagues. The Dean will be _so_ proud.” His grin just about split his face; he’d never managed to get the better of _both_ of them before now. “You ought to get to it; we said we’d have tea with Abby back at the loft and we don’t want to be late.” Connor’s face fell as he thought about that, “Uh, what are we going to tell Abby?”

“All of it, I’m afraid.   Not a good idea to let her find out on her own.”

Stephen tried, “We could just let her read the reports. Becker, too.”

Connor shook his head dolefully, “No, Nick’s right. They’ll be mad as hell if we let them find out any way but from us.”

Nick considered, “I’ll ring Abby and see if she’s okay with our bringing Becker along for tea. She’ll already have sussed out something is up.”

Connor volunteered, “I’ll ring Becker. He’ll be more likely to agree if it’s me; you two invite him out all the time, you’re easier to brush off.”

Connor fished his mobile out of his bag and did as he’d promised, quickly obtaining the Captain’s puzzled agreement to meeting them at Abby’s loft in a couple hours. Hopefully, Becker didn’t get too suspicious between now and then. Abby out for answers would be hard enough; the two of them on high alert would make it very hard to control how the awkward information they had to share came out. With the next, supremely awkward, team meeting arranged, Nick and Stephen went into the study to hash out their report on the morning’s visitor and Connor turned his attention to continuing with his neglected updates to the creature database. After he moved his laptop to the kitchen counter, of course. Soon enough, it was time to leave.

In response to Cutter’s offer, Abby had requested they bring pasta and the homemade meatballs from a small family-run Italian deli she had discovered with a friend from her yoga class. She swore up and down that the meatballs were to die for, and worth the detour from their regular route. She’d assured them that she already had what she needed to make a sauce, and that she’d be tasking Becker with bringing the bread necessary for Connor’s homemade garlic bread, a favorite of the entire team.

Stephen had offered to put some more lotion on Connor’s bum before they left, saying it’d be fine if they were a bit late, they could blame traffic on the way to the deli, but Connor hadn’t wanted to prolong the inevitable, nor give Abby any chance of being in a bad mood at the start of their conversation. As he’d pointed out, “Even if I do my best to hide that I’m sore, she’ll know something’s wrong. If we’re late, it’ll just make her worry and watch me more closely. But thanks. If it were any other time, I’d definitely take you up on it.”

So it was that Connor, Stephen and Nick arrived five minutes early at the loft, pasta and meatballs in hand and trepidation weighing in their stomachs. And found that Becker had beaten them there, and that he and Abby had been talking, and comparing notes. Becker stood as they followed Abby up the stairs, “We’ve been talking. We want to know what’s going on. Preferably before dinner.”

Abby went to stand beside Becker, “Yeah, something’s been off since the last anomaly, and you three are going to tell us what it is.”

“It’s obviously something to do with the alternate universes, the other Connors Connor, this, our Connor, said he met,” Becker asserted.

Abby’s eyes narrowed, “I _knew_ something was wrong! Connor, why didn’t you say something? At least to tell me you couldn’t tell me anything just yet.”

Stepping slightly in front of an abashed-looking Connor, Nick sent Abby a hard look, “It was hard enough for him to find a way to put it in his report; talking about it was out of the question.”

Their female teammate was not cowed in the least. She drew herself up and squared off with Cutter, “But he told you, is that it? When he couldn’t find a way to tell me?”

Silently concurring with Becker’s soft, “Abby, this isn’t helping,” Stephen stepped forward, hoping to head this off before Abby got too much of a head of steam behind her, only to have Connor beat him to the punch, “No, Abby, look . . . I had to tell them. I’d been trying to find a way to tell _someone_ about it for three days, and it had me so twisted up in knots that I didn’t eat, or sleep, and, well . . . I collapsed. And then I was so strung out that I just. . . lost it. Stephen and Nick got me calmed down and made me eat and brought me back to the house for the night, and then I was going to tell them in the morning . . . and they had a visitor who beat me to it . . .” he glanced helplessly back at Nick and Stephen. “Maybe it’d just be easier if they read the reports?”

Becker frowned over Abby’s gaping head, “I would prefer to hear it from your own mouth. But if it’s all that hard to talk about . . . just let us see the reports already.”

Stephen shared a grimace with Nick, and put a commiserating hand on Connor’s back, “I assume you’ve got them on your laptop? Both of them?”

Connor nodded, “I can print out a couple copies. I’ll get the garlic bread started while you guys read.”

Any other time, Stephen would be tempted to call Connor out on the obvious avoidance tactic, but in this case he couldn’t begrudge his friend the urge to hide away. The printer started whirring on cue and Stephen busied himself collecting the reports and stapling them together before handing them off to Abby and Becker in turn. Nick took the opportunity to put away their purchases in the fridge before leaving Connor alone in the kitchen and joining Stephen in leaning against the railing, watching as Becker and Abby started to read. You didn’t need to be an expert on animal behavior, or on human behavior for that matter, to see the moment both of the readers got to the crucial bit in Connor’s report a mile off. If this all hadn’t been so serious, the twin open mouths on the pair on the couch would have been pretty funny. They certainly could have given Rex a run for his money in the fly-catching department.

Becker raised his eyes, “Okay, I admit that is bizarre, but I don’t see why it’s gotten such a reaction out of Connor, let alone you two.”

Abby jostled his arm, having already moved on to Stephen and Nick’s report, at the same time that Cutter wordless indicated for Becker to keep reading. Nick and Stephen had kept their account to the bare minimum, just the facts of their visitor’s arrival, departure, and a succinct summary of what he’d told them in between. They had omitted any mention of what the other Connors had said to their Connor and kept clear of any but the most necessary mention of the other Cutter’s, and their, concerns about how the information had impacted their ‘Glove.’ Still, for anyone who knew them, there was enough that could be read between the lines.

Sitting back, Abby looked shell-shocked. It was Becker who made the connection first. “Connor? You,” he glanced at Nick and Stephen with narrowed eyes, “You three. . . They didn’t . . .”

There was a thunk from the kitchen, followed by an audibly weary sigh, and Connor shuffled his way into view, meeting Becker’s eyes resolutely, before he couldn’t stand it anymore and his gaze drifted to the floor. “They . . . I, we all agreed. No one did anything I didn’t agree to.” He backed up a step and put his hands out in front of him when Becker surged off the couch and advanced into his space, “I’m fine! Really. Just . . . well, okay. I’m mostly fine, anyway.” Connor tensed when Becker reached for him, but all the Special Forces Captain did was gently clasp him on the shoulder and study his face, although he seemed like he wanted to do more. Becker’s voice was softer than Connor had ever heard it, and directed at him as well, “Connor?”

That, out of everything about his current predicament, made Connor blink back tears. He dashed his hand across his face. “Didn’t know you cared, Action Man.”

Becker looked sad, and hurt. His voice was equally lamentful. “Of course I care, Connor.” He glanced back at Abby, his gaze moving on to Nick and Stephen, then back to Abby, unsure of how to proceed.

Abby said woodenly, “Start from the beginning. I think I’ve got the gist of it, but I need to hear it from you.” Her face softened just a bit as she shifted her gaze to Connor. “Please.”

Connor shrugged out from under Becker and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with Cutter and Stephen. He folded his arms and stared at his boots, sighing heavily. Stephen shared a look of understanding with Nick. Connor wasn’t going to be the one who had to bear the brunt of the telling this time, “Last night, I went into the break room to make myself some tea. Just as I walked in, Connor dropped out of his chair in a dead faint. I caught him before his head hit the floor, and that’s when Nick came in . . .”

Connor remained still and silent throughout Nick and Stephen’s recounting of his breakdown, and the confessions of love and declarations of family it had jarred loose. When they got to the arrival of the other Nick Cutter, and the concern for Connor that had prompted his visit, he slumped, head tilting further towards the floor. His voice was soft, yet distinct in the confines of the loft. “They said, the other Connors, they were so… upset that I wasn’t getting,” he forced the word out with only a tiny hitch, “smacked. They pitied me. They were so sad, like I was missing out on some huge, special thing. They tried to pretend they weren’t, said stuff about my Cutter being ‘ _less demonstrative, that’s all_ ; _I’m sure he cares for you just as much_.’ . . . And, I . . . just didn’t know how to handle that.”

Abby murmured, “Oh, Conn, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

Becker reassured, “I can’t think of anyone who’d have known how to handle that. Hard to argue with yourself, let alone five of yourself – selves. And they weren’t exactly talking about Britain as a republic rather than a monarchy.”

That got him a shaky laugh. “Dunno. There’s some as get pretty worked up about that sort of thing.” Connor lifted his head to send a wan smile Becker’s way, turning to include Abby on second thought.

Taking that as his cue to pick up the story, Stephen cut it, “Cutter – the other one – told us it came out when they were discussing the anomaly with the pride of big cats . . .”

Even though only he and Nick had been present for this bit of the story, poor Connor still had it just as rough – rougher - during the retelling. Stephen let Nick take over after the first few sentences, listening as his friend outlined what his other self had told them about how things were done in his, and presumably the other, universes, and why, stopping his account at the point where the other Cutter had departed. An indescribable silence filled the room.

Abby took a deep breath, “So . . . this family thing. Does it include me too? . . . And Becker?”

Becker shifted, his voice stern, “Abigail, I don’t think . . .”

Connor looked shocked, “Of course it does! The both of you! I . . . of course!”

Abby had tears on her cheeks and Becker . . . Becker was blinking rapidly.

Nick stepped forward and swept Abby into his arms, “C’mere, lass. Give your Uncle Nicky a hug.”

Abby giggled, returning the hug fiercely, “You’re too young to be my uncle, and I don’t think I’d ever be able to call you Nicky.”

“Aye. Let’s just call it family then. Whattaya say?”

Stephen stepped up to Becker and engulfed the other man in a bear hug, proper military reserve be damned, “C’mere, bro. You’re not getting left out, not for a second.” To his surprise, Becker met him halfway and did his best to crush the air out of Stephen’s chest, a brief shudder running through his body as he laid his head on Stephen’s shoulder for a moment. Turning toward Abby, Stephen passed Becker off to Nick. “Family it is. Welcome, Sis.” He noted approvingly that Becker’s embrace of Nick was no less enthusiastic.

Then Becker was sweeping Connor into a hug of his own, responding to Connor’s “Welcome to the family,” with his own, “Best family I could’ve wished for. Best little brother, too.” Stephen shared a crooked smile with Becker over Connor’s head as their shiny new sibling happily opined, “From zero to two big brothers before tea, that’s my kind of day!”

“And a sister,” Abby reminded Connor from inside Stephen’s arms.

Connor grinned, “Don’t worry, I’d never forget you Abby-sis. And . . . I’m sorry for all the, you know . . .” he swirled his hand in the air sheepishly.

“Trying to chat me up? You never had a chance anyway,” she smiled to take out the sting. “I don’t date my brothers.”

Connor chuckled and pulled Abby in for a hug, sending Becker back for a second welcoming embrace from Nick. Those hugs turned into more hugs, and more hugs turned into the five of them smooshed together in a loose knot, huddling up in a communal embrace of family and friendship. Several stomachs gurgled at once. Snorting in amusement, Abby disengaged first. “One of you put the water on for the pasta. I’ll start chopping things up for the sauce. Connor, where are you on the garlic bread?”

“Ready to go in the oven as soon as we want it,“ Connor assured her, and hissed softly as his sore muscles reasserted their presence after a while of standing straight and relatively still. Becker turned toward Connor, took in his posture and the expression on his face, and raised his eyebrows at Nick.

“You?” He tilted his head toward Connor.

Connor blushed bright red, but answered for himself, “Yes. He did. . . And there’s no hope of it being left there. In for a penny, in for a pound of flesh.”

Abby came back into the room. “He what? What are you . . . Oh.” She turned to Nick, and Stephen was convinced that she was about to punch him, or slap him in the face.

Connor’s soft voice inserted itself between her and Nick, “Abby, I agreed.”

Stephen could not have been prouder of his little brother in that moment. He doubted he would have been so brave in similar circumstances. He put his hand on Abby’s shoulder. “We all agreed. Me and Nick too. Connor had just . . .”

“Already done something dangerous and stupid,” Abby nodded. She looked at Connor, her face serious but her voice was soft, “You’re okay?”

“No, I’m bloody _sore_. But . . . yeah, Abs, I’m okay, mostly.”

Abby turned a tentative smile from Connor to Nick, “Okay, then. . . Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, lass,” Cutter waved away her apology.

Becker cleared his throat, “This . . . agreement. About smacking. Is it a family deal? One comes with the other?”

Stephen shook his head emphatically, gratified to see Connor and Nick doing the same as well, “No. It worked for the other, the other ARC families, and we’ve agreed it’ll work for us,” he gestured between the three of them, “but like Nick told Connor before, we won’t use what works in other universes to manipulate you into agreeing, and you’re still part of the family whether you agree or not.”

“But we do think it would work - sauce for the goose, etcetera,” Connor chimed in.

Nick met Becker’s gaze, and then Abby’s. “Think about it. But please don’t agree because you think you have to.”

The most newly inducted members of their family opened their mouths together, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

Nick received two firm nods.

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

Nick smiled. “Good on the both of you. I’m very proud of you for that.” He paused, “I’d be just as proud if you’d said no and stuck to your guns. I just can’t seem to say things right the first time today,” he added ruefully.

“You say that like it’s unusual.”

Nick stabbed a finger at Stephen, “Don’t you start.”

Connor broke in, “Um, guys? Can we get going on the food? I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Abby pointed out.

“Takes a lot of energy to run a brain like mine, doesn’t it?”

Becker chuckled, “That, I can believe. I’ll get the pasta going. Unless the sauce needs more time?”

Abby led the way back to the kitchen, assigning tasks to the men trailing behind her as they arrived in the work space. Soon they were all sitting around the table, with Connor perched on a pillow - ostentatiously laid out and fluffed within an inch of its life by Becker - and digging into a truly delicious linguine and meatballs, perfectly accompanied by Connor’s garlic bread.

Becker took a sip from his water glass, “So, who’s looking forward to Lester having to read those reports?”

Abby frowned, “What if he asks about Connor and how he ended up through the anomaly in the first place? He’s quite perceptive, you know.”

Connor paled. Stephen clapped him on the back, “No worries. We’ll just have to think of something to tell him. Something so horrible that he won’t dare ask us anything of the sort again.” Connor smirked happily into his meatballs. Five to one didn’t seem like bad odds at all.

Nick tilted his head in thought, a dangerous gleam in his eye, “All right. Here’s what I think we should do . . .”


End file.
